


521. The irony of forgetting

by SevlinRipley



Category: It - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Car Accidents, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Food, Holding Hands, Hugs, Love Confessions, M/M, Prescription Drug Use, Sharing a Bed, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 04:24:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17655998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevlinRipley/pseuds/SevlinRipley
Summary: The first few days, Eddie paced the floor enough to get shin splints. Mike, upon visiting, had forced him into a chair by the shoulder, and once his body hit cushion, the crash hit. Adrenaline gone, Eddie had sunken in, and practically curled in on himself. Eventually he'd fallen asleep with his cheek pressed to his kneecap, the tops of his thighs pressed to his chest, and Bill's flannel over his shoulders.So when he awakens, his bones ache and his muscles are on pins and needles. The pain in his neck from being pressed too far forward, down, and to one side, makes him wince several times over before he really gets his eyes open. He's stretching his neck up, up, up, and letting his legs fall to the ground, with a slap of his feet to linoleum, when he dares his first glance at Richie, heart already aching with the expectation that as per the last 72+ hours, Richie will be resting back into his pillows, face completely smooth looking deceitfully peaceful.Fucking comas.





	521. The irony of forgetting

The first few days, Eddie paced the floor enough to get shin splints. Mike, upon visiting, had forced him into a chair by the shoulder, and once his body hit cushion, the crash hit. Adrenaline gone, Eddie had sunken in, and practically curled in on himself. Eventually he'd fallen asleep with his cheek pressed to his kneecap, the tops of his thighs pressed to his chest, and Bill's flannel over his shoulders.

So when he awakens, his bones ache and his muscles are on pins and needles. The pain in his neck from being pressed too far forward, down, and to one side, makes him wince several times over before he really gets his eyes open. He's stretching his neck up, up, up, and letting his legs fall to the ground, with a slap of his feet to linoleum, when he dares his first glance at Richie, heart already aching with the expectation that as per the last 72+ hours, Richie will be resting back into his pillows, face completely smooth looking deceitfully peaceful. _Fucking comas_.

Only, Richie... is _not_ asleep. Eddie's lungs get stuck, and his jaw drops open as he looks at Richie, who's covered in a dim blue overhead light, while the rest of the room has gone dark with the night.

"Hey sleepyhead."

And that's _Richie_ saying that to _him_. Eddie. Like Richie hasn't been fucking out for days.

Eddie, stupidly, chokes up at the tone, eyes stinging as Richie blinks at him with a soft smile on his face, and lifts his hand to wave. A small grimace crosses Richie's face, as the IVs pull on the back of his hand, and he turns a little frown Eddie's way. "That hurt," he grouses, but the tone he uses borders on amusement, as he flexes that same hand over his thigh.

Swallowing back the relief and the surprise, Eddie rises on shaky legs, coming closer to the bed. He feels a rush of want go through him. Something that feels a lot like need, pushing him to hug Richie, cradle Richie's head into his chest. Even more stupidly, Eddie feels like swatting Richie's arm and asking just where the fuck he's been, cause it certainly hasn't been _here_ with Eddie, like he was _meant_ to be. _Asshole_. How could Richie fucking _leave_ him like that?

Without doing any of those things, Eddie picks up Richie's glasses from the table near the bed, and folds them out, onto Richie's face.

He watches as Richie blinks several more times, and then realization dawns on his face. " _Oh_ ," Richie says, "That's much better." So light, so inconsequential that Eddie feels a laugh bubble up in his chest, just before it clenches tight again.

"Rich, you - did you call the nurse? I -" Eddie didn't hear one come in, if Richie did. He can't imagine he slept through what surely was a big to-do, right?

Mouth gaping open, Richie sucks in a little breath, brows tightening just slightly, and then he closes his mouth, shakes his head, and then finally says, "I... don't really know what's going on, actually. So I just thought I'd wait for you to wake up."

Pursing his mouth, Eddie shakes his own head, and sighs in exasperation before reaching over Richie to press the call button, where it'll signal the nurse's station. "That was a stupid thing to do. You should've at _least_ woken me up."

At that, Richie gets this sort of patronizing look on his face, but it's soft as he lilts his head to the side, looking at Eddie as if he's this fascinating specimen Richie's studying. "You were too cute to wake up."

Suddenly Eddie's internal alarms are going off, the tendons in his neck stretching taut as he looks down into Richie's eyes and sees they're especially clear. Eddie's pretty sure Richie doesn't realize he's been in a coma. That he's got bandages covering up his pretty hair, some of which has been shaved off in order to place stitches there. Richie's words are finally sinking in. The fact that Richie doesn't know what's happening. But it's to the point where he's not even scared? And how can he not be scared? _He's in a hospital_.

That also suddenly hits Eddie. He's been so worried sick that he hasn't even had a second to breathe in the chemical smell the stark white walls carry. A shiver goes down Eddie's spine, small and prickling. Richie's frowning again, when Eddie's eyes focus. "Richie," Eddie breathes out, rushing to say _anything_ useful, but thankfully a nurse arrives before he can take matters into his own hands. Before he can usher Richie into panicking, even if he knows Richie would bury that panic somewhere deep and pretend he was fine. And maybe - Eddie hopes - that's all this is. Just Richie burying things.

But he feels... different. (Eddie avoids thinking the word 'wrong' but... If the shoe doesn't fit.)

 

"I was afraid of this," Richie says, matter of fact.

Eddie would very much like to scold his best friend, only his best friend isn't here right now.

"You were -" Eddie swallows back the bile he feels twisting up through his gut. His voice is shakier than the deadpan he was going for. But that's probably a good thing, because two seconds after his words falter, he feels guilty. None of this is Richie's fault.

Well. Actually, Eddie still hasn't decided whether it's Richie's fault, or not, for having gotten the motorcycle in the first place, but technically the accident wasn't anything he could have prevented so. Eddie's anger is probably a little misdirected.

"Yeah..." Richie says, answering the question he thought Eddie was going to ask, "Because you know, I thought I should probably know who you were if you were hanging out here. I was gonna ask, but then you called the nurse."

Arms folding even tighter across his chest, Eddie rolls his eyes and then his body, too. Away from Richie. All away. Then he grits his teeth and says, "I'll be right back," before exiting the room to call Bill and give him the update at approximately three in the morning.

He accidentally starts crying before Bill even picks up. "Stupid asshole doesn't even remember enough to get the irony of _him_ forgetting _us_ ," Eddie says, toward the end of their conversation. They agree it's best not to overwhelm Richie, however, and he'll be kept at the hospital for another 24 hours before they defer him to a specialist, with out-patient care. So Eddie's going to stay with Richie, alone, and try to figure out how not to make things worse by randomly breaking down and begging Richie to remember him.

 

Eddie thought he'd collected himself, by the time he comes back from the cafeteria with Richie's favorite chips and soda. But apparently he should've checked in the mirror first, because that soft smile that seems to be Richie's current default expression immediately falls when Eddie walks into the room, holding the bag and bottle up for Richie to see.

At first he thinks the food is wrong, somehow, but then Richie says, " _Hey_... were you crying?" All soft and sweet. Eddie glances to the mirror above the sink in Richie's room to find his eyes are red-rimmed. Helpfully, his eyes once again, begin welling up. This time over Richie's concern.

"I," Eddie starts to choke out, lifting his sweater sleeves to wipe at his eyes again before the tears can actually spill, "I'm fine. Just. Got you... Uh. Thought you might be hungry." The doctors said Richie needs to go easy. Very easy. But he can have a sip every now and then, a bite. In-between the mostly-liquid diet deliveries of food, until they know Richie's stomach is as awake as he is.

"Look. I'm really sorry. Do you - do you wanna try to tell me about yourself?" Richie asks, mouth turning lop-sided as the soda and chips land in his lap, and his stomach churns at the sight of them. He casually moves them off to the side, and resumes lifting a spoonful of broth to his lips, from the tray nearby.

Shaking his head, Eddie puts on a fake smile and says, "It's not - like you can help it. I'm fine, really. Just tired." Exhausted. Drained, and admittedly scared. Bill had offered to come take his place. 'You've been ki-killing you-yourself, Eds. Let me. I - I'll watch him for ya. Pr-romise.' But there was no way Eddie was returning home to an empty apartment. Richie was his flat mate. He was _supposed_ to be there. And since he wasn't, Eddie was going to be where he _was_. Not to mention he'd been waiting for this.

Not _this_ , but for Richie to wake up. And just because he didn't come back the way Eddie'd expected, doesn't mean there aren't still benefits to reap.

For instance, Richie keeps giving Eddie considering looks as he tries tell Richie who he is, even though Richie, himself, is ingrained into every fiber of his being and Eddie finds it really difficult to express that. And while the looks make Eddie flush pink, not used to that kind of attention from Richie - like he wonders what all is inside Eddie's small frame of a body. It also feels kind of nice to watch Richie smile at him, caught-out, when Eddie clears his throat, and pointedly blinks Richie's way, before repeating his question. "How're you feeling? Do you need more pain medicine?"

 

"So, Eddie, I live with you?" Richie asks, rolling an ice chip around on his tongue.

Richie's said Eddie's name, just like that, about a thousand times since he introduced himself. Rolling it around on his tongue just like that ice chip. It doesn't sound right. Foreign and heavy and like it'll melt away because it's not quite real. Eddie's tempted, every time, to just tell Richie to stop. Or inform him that if he has any stupid remixes of Eddie's name, to feel free to use those, because that would make things feel a little more normal.

Not that Richie never calls him Eddie, obviously. But... he guesses it just _feels_ like a lot more than it actually is, right now. Rubbing salt in the wound.

"Mhm," Eddie says shortly, around some of the chips he got for Richie. They ended up in his possession after Eddie began looking longingly at them, and Richie _didn't_.

A certain type of smile blooms over Richie's face. One that's familiar, but different all the same. Less... put-on. "How long have we been together?"

"Uh," Eddie says, immediately, lines bowing up his forehead before his eyebrows stitch together. He decides Richie's just a little out of it. Understandably so. That he must mean to ask how long they've _lived_ together. "Well, about three years."

He's already told Richie about their five other friends. About how they all packed up, and off to California after graduating high school. How he and Eddie stayed closer to Hollywood while everyone else spread out. But when Richie had his accident, those who could get off work, did. How Bill and Mike are in a hotel right now, eager to see him awake again. And how his parents would have come if they could. Of Maggie's fear of planes, and Went's non-stop work. Plus, how Eddie had assured them he'd take care of Richie. At that, Richie had given him an almost dopey sort of smile. The pain meds, Eddie was sure, had kicked in.

"Do we like our place?" Richie asks. Again, there's a connotation to it that Eddie isn't sure whether or not he's projecting.

"It's decent," Eddie says, subconsciously grimacing over the slew of cockroaches they had to deal with in the very beginning.

Los Angeles was expensive. Went helped out when he could, and Eddie had a shrinking trust fund that was being put to use in addition to the mediocre jobs they'd picked up. Richie had gotten his bike for deliveries of various kinds. It'd been working out alright, while he looked for more career-focused opportunities in the mean-time.

Now, Eddie wonders what Richie's plan is going to be. They're going to run more mobility tests before releasing him. But Eddie is fairly certain if he sees Richie on a motorcycle ever again, he'll start crying on the spot, so... Regardless of Richie's _ability_ to continue riding, once the insurance company pays up, Eddie is hoping he'll just find a job public transport can handle.

An even more illogical side of his brain reasons that maybe Richie doesn't _have_ to have a job at all. Or that maybe he can work from home. (As if they haven't both tried, and tried to find jobs that allow them to do just that, and failed miserably.)

Richie chuckles under his breath. "Sounds promising. But as long as we're together, right?" Implying they can live out of a dumpster, and as long as they're together then fuck it, _nice pad_.

Even as Eddie starts to roll his eyes, he feels heat rising up on his cheeks again. There is nothing there to object to. That kind of _had_ been how they were operating. 

Every morning as Eddie was washing and re-washing their dishes for breakfast, trying not to gag over thoughts of insects scurrying over the top of them the night before, all that he needed in order not to storm out and half-way across the States to a more affordable town, was for Richie to squeeze at his shoulder. For Richie to lean into him and ask him what the research was on how many times a person had to reapply soap in order for something to _really_ get clean, and not just that 'mythical' sort of clean most of the rest of the world was functioning on.

He can hear it now: Familiarity and warmth, ' _C'mon, Eds. I'll treat you to a cheese danish on the way to work. We'll have to eat beans for two weeks straight to make up for it, but I'm more worried about your sanity._ '

There isn't even a good reason to deny it. _His_ Richie isn't here... Teasing Eddie for secretly being in love with him. Just begging for Eddie to call him a 'jerk' and elbow him in the arm as a defense mechanism. This Richie is being sincere. So Eddie stops himself. Inhales slowly, and then sighs, "Right. But. It's getting better. We -" _What 'we'_? "We're making it our own. As terrible of a choice as that may be, given your taste." Eddie has to jab at him a little. It hurts too much, otherwise.

"Yeah, right... I bet you secretly love my taste."

Well... At least _some_ of his Richie is back.

 

After meeting Richie's specialist, and being checked over once more, thoroughly, with Eddie having been taught how to change Richie's dressings, among other ways to care for him in his current condition, 24 hours had extended in time significantly.

Mike and Bill picked them up in Bill's car, bags from their motel stay stowed in the trunk. Richie sat up front, eyes closed with his head pressed back to the seat trying to minimize the bumpiness of the ride back home. Eddie was honestly impressed the entire trip, with Bill and Mike's ability to remain steady and quiet. Not pressuring Richie to interact with them despite their patience while he'd been asleep. They hesitated over asking for hugs once they got Richie's hospital bag over Eddie's shoulder, but Richie noticed immediately, what their body language was screaming for, before they drove on home. Eddie felt ridiculous having to bite his nails into his palm to avoid tearing up as Richie tenderly pulled Bill and Mike, each, into a hug despite them being relative strangers.

Pale in the face as he wraps his arm around Eddie's for balance on the way to their apartment, Richie's clearly feeling queasy from the car ride. "Don't worry, Rich. We'll get you right into bed..." Eddie says softly, sticking the key in the door to unlock it.

"Already?" Richie asks, voice trembling, but still high-pitched enough to be considered light-hearted. "I'm not sure the doctors would approve."

Eddie sighs, but it comes out through half a smirk. "So you can rest," Eddie adds, to clarify, although he's most definitely aware Richie already knows this.

The door is pushed open and for a second Eddie feels a dissonance washing over him. This is his home. Their home. But it's been vacant. And they're both returning, but only half-way. It feels like a dream. A dream Eddie'd had at the hospital while fitfully sleeping in a chair at Richie's side, imagining having to walk through the door without him. He slips his hand down Richie's arm and takes his hand, squeezing at it, reminding himself that this _isn't_ that dream. The air in his lungs catch when Richie squeezes back.

Clearing his throat, Eddie leads the way inside, enough to shut the door and lock it behind them. Maybe to keep any stray motorists out. Maybe to lock what was left of Richie in.

Neither one move to let go of the other's hand until Richie is sat on the bed. He has a bedspread with rainbow-colored designs in the middle, surrounded by black. Posters crookedly placed on the walls with thumb-tacks, and a small TV on top of a dresser facing the bed, with a shitty antenna that, at the very least, picks up PBS so Richie can watch cartoons whenever he's home. He's already in soft pajama pants and an over-sized shirt that Eddie brought for him the day he was called as Richie's Emergency Contact. So there's no need to get him changed before easing him into bed.

Richie watches with curious eyes as Eddie fretfully tucks him in. Checking that Richie's pillows are propped up comfortably, and that he has his remote within reach, _and_ with working batteries, since Richie's been known to pull them out for _other_ uses. "Do you want water _and_ Ginger Ale?" Eddie asks, surveying Richie's length beneath the bedding, as though he might be able to tell what level of nausea Richie is feeling by that alone. "I'll have to run - well. No. Fuck that; I'm not leaving you. Shit I should've had Bill and Mike run into a store on the way. I'll just have to send for -"

"Eddie," Richie says softly, reaching up to wrap his long fingers around Eddie's wrist. Immediately soothing the smaller man to the point that Eddie's knees are going weak into the side of the bed. "Water's fine." His mouth turns up at the corner a little, and his thumb stretches down over the back of Eddie's hand, bringing goosebumps up along his skin. "Do we have straws? I was really liking the straws." The ones at the hospital. Even though they were only bendy in one spot.

Suddenly Eddie's trilling over more than just the odd gesture of affection Richie's giving him. If he liked the straws at the hospital, he's _really_ gonna like the loop-to-loop bendy straws Richie had purchased a whole pack of and insisted on keeping in their main silverware drawer. "Actually," Eddie says, voice wavering slightly, as he extracts his hand from Richie's hold, as gently as possible without actually acknowledging that Richie _has_ a hold on him, "We do! I'll go get your water, and straw. One sec, kay?"

When Eddie comes back with a frosted glass built up with ice cubes and a hot pink straw, he frowns a little. Richie's eyes are closed and he's sunken into the bed, kind of how he looked in the car. The TV is still off. And Eddie finds himself glancing to the bag he'd dropped to the floor by Richie's door. "Here," he says quietly, in case Richie's asleep. But Richie's eyes pop open and he rubs at his eyes beneath his lenses before shakily taking the cup in his hands.

"Woah, look at that. That's _fancy_ ," Richie says cheerfully, bringing his lips to the straw to suck at it.

"Slowly," Eddie says, a gentle reminder, hand itching to reach out and carefully feel at Richie's head. "You have a headache? From the car?"

Richie's mouth goes tight in response. He doesn't like to complain. If this were Eddie's Richie, he wouldn't be hearing the end of it. 'Eds, you _have_ to be nice; my head hurts. Take care of me.' But... this Richie is shy about it. Hasn't learned that Eddie won't be annoyed or bothered. Even with all of Eddie's fussing, teary eyes and cold demeanor after Richie _waited_ for him to wake up to get help... He still doesn't seem to know it's okay if he hurts.

Turning his wrist up, Eddie gazes at his watch. The timer he has set to tell him when Richie can next take his pain pills hasn't gone off, but the seconds are ticking down. _Thank god_ , because Eddie's not sure he'd have been able to resist giving them to Richie anyways. "We have some pudding?" Eddie says hopefully, wanting to get just a little something into Richie's stomach. It's not nearly as bland a food as Eddie'd like to give him, but it's something. Until Eddie can figure out a way to get more. "Or some rice... if you're feeling up to it," he adds, as he crouches before the bag and digs out the pills.

Upon turning around, Eddie finds that Richie's shoulders have gone visibly less tense at the appearance of the orange, rattling prescription bottle. Eddie gives him a sad smile of understanding and immediately pops the cap off to dump out two oblong, powder-white pills with pink speckles. "Two for your next two doses, then down to one," Eddie reminds him gently. As thought he can verbally encourage Richie's body to be in less pain by then. Hoping that weening Richie off the medication won't leave him wanting. Again, it's going to be _very_ difficult to turn Richie down if he needs more. But they're supposed to apply ice packs regularly, too, so... hopefully everything combined will lead to success.

"Can you eat?" he asks, again, waiting for Richie to take a sip at his water before he tips a pill at a time into Richie's mouth, watching his throat work it down when he swallows. Eventually Richie gives him a half-smile and pats his tummy.

"No can do," Richie answers. "Give me half an hour?" he asks, eyebrows drawn and eyes slit like he's putting Eddie out, by asking for extra time to settle down.

Eddie hates it, and he doesn't know how to correct it. Richie feeling like an inconvenience isn't exactly a new concept, but - it's been some time since Eddie proved how much that was all in Richie's head. He's pretty sure no matter _how_ he did it, it didn't get fixed over-night, anyway. "Sure, Rich. Just tell me if you feel like something later. I'll just be in the living room but -" He stops himself, returning to the bag so he can plug Richie's cell into the charger on top of his night stand. "Just call if you need me." Having Richie yell at him seemed like something that could make the ache in his head grow stronger, which was the last thing Eddie wanted. Though, it wouldn't take much to project his voice into their tiny apartment. It's still better that he call.

He nearly turns from the bed when he realizes that Richie probably no longer remembers the speed dial number, and his focus has been off - reading almost impossible without making Richie sick. Not enough to be a cause for worry. 'That's normal. It'll ease in time,' the specialist had said. "Uhm, I'm - if you hold down the One, it calls me," he said, showing Richie the exact button to look out for. _Then_ he turns to move from Richie's bed, to the living room. But Richie's hand snaps around his wrist again.

A voice meets Eddie's ears that is pitiful, buried by yet another smile. "Stay with me? You haven't rested in your own bed since the accident either, right? Bet you knock out in ten seconds if you lay by me."

Face twitching tighter slightly, Eddie doesn't really feel like arguing with Richie's logic. This isn't his bed, but yeah, he guesses it's about a thousand times closer than anywhere he's slept the last few days. And this way if Richie needs him, he won't even have to pick up his phone.

On the other hand, as Eddie's climbing up onto the empty space on the other side, the warmth of Richie's hand still imprinted into his skin, he gives Richie a stern look. "Just because I'm asleep doesn't mean you can just _not_ wake me up if you need something. Got it? None of that shit you pulled at the hospital, Richie. You wake me up the _second_ you even _want_ something, okay?"

Richie seems to survey his face for a second. Eddie's pouty lower lip and narrowed eyes, and sighs fondly as he lays his head back into the pillows. "I can see why - this - _us_ ," Richie says, a smirk firmly on his face despite his eyes being closed against the pain, and into the relaxation his body so gravely needs. "Yeah, I'll wake you. But just so you know... You're actually making it more tempting not to. You look really cute when you're upset."

It rings in Eddie's ears. A betraying sense of warmth unfurling in his chest. A slight case of Hope lighting up in Eddie's eyes as he blushes again. Christ... He used to have _that_ under control, too. Everything's really been thrown out the window now, and it's so fucking unfair. "Not funny," he grumbles. But admittedly, Richie's bed is the best thing he's felt in what feels like forever, and his eyes are already slipping closed, last syllable coming out hushed and sleepy.

He may or may not hear Richie utter another, "Cute," before he gives way to sleep, but his brain grasps it with welcome arms and tucks it away.

 

"Hey. Sleepyhead," a voice is saying, through a hazy fog in Eddie's brain. Something soft is stroking at his cheek, and Eddie sighs into the touch before fully grasping the fact that he's meant to be waking up, rather then falling into a deeper slumber. "You told me to wake you up, so I am, but we can pretend this didn't happen if you wanna sleep some more."

Eddie blinks a few times, arms stiff and swaddled in sleep beneath his chest, where he's still laying facing Richie. Wakefulness is difficult to reach, but the soft touch on his cheek is becoming clearer, sending a tickle down his veins, making his pulse beat a bit faster. It's Richie's thumb. Smoothing over the peach fuzz on Eddie's cheek. Richie's voice coming out as a breath across his face.

Eyes opening, Eddie blearily recognizes the proximity of Richie's face to his own, and then promptly jerks his head back. His throat can't fully form words for another half a minute, during which time he blinks at Richie some more, and then up at the ceiling where he's hurtled himself onto his back, and lost Richie's touch.

"Sorry," Richie says, sounding truly remorseful. "You made me promise. I just kind of assumed we keep promises, but if we don't... you can go back to sleep."

"No," Eddie croaks, finally. "No - thanks. I - what do you need? You ready for food?" It begins to sink in how dark it is now, and that he never turned on a light, because when they got home the sun was still out. Now, it's so dark they're both just blue silhouettes. Eddie realizes he's still pinned to the bed by confusion, and immediately jolts up so that he's sitting, feet planted on the floor. Well, toes planted on the floor. Stupid Richie and his stupid lanky-ass body put his bed on risers so that he can actually sit on his bed comfortably. Eddie's legs are dangling, mostly.

So Eddie slides off the bed the rest of the way, then flexes his hands at his sides, further shaking off the feeling of Richie's hand on his face, as he flips on the bed-side light at Richie's side, and quickly averts his gaze, toward the bedroom door.

 

With a small bowl of rice in hand, and some fresh water, Eddie is relieved to see Richie feeling well enough to have turned the TV on. It's some British show, and Eddie is eager to see if Richie repeats back lines he hears, impressions of the various accents represented.

Plus, he wants to sit with Richie and make sure he's eating well. Throat not too sleepy to properly swallow. Afraid Richie will choke on the thin grains he's so carefully shoveling into his mouth. It's silly, Eddie knows. But Richie doesn't object to him staying close. Doesn't say he needs his space and time to process even though it seems obvious to Eddie that it'd be healthy for him.

The look on his face, the first time Richie does try to imitate one of the actors, is probably akin to someone who was just told they won the lottery. Eddie's aware how ridiculous that is, and he tries to school it after Richie gives him a little head-tilt. But then Richie's face lights up with a smile so bright it's almost like his head isn't all in bandages. Like this is any other time Eddie has given in to Richie being amusing.

From then on, Richie goes full-force with the accents, leaning down into Eddie's side as he does so. Thoroughly enjoying watching Eddie try to stifle laughter and pretend this isn't one of the best signs he could have asked for. His brain screaming at him that this must certainly mean Richie will be back someday, be okay. Eddie can't even bother trying to put space between them.

Eventually they just lean together and Richie rests his head on Eddie's. It's understandable. Richie's still so tired, body working so hard to heal. It's okay if sometimes he can't hold his head up anymore and uses Eddie as a pillow. Makes sense.

That's what Eddie tells himself.

 

As it does, night settles upon them further, pulling at their eyelids again. Making them sleepy as the credits roll on the second mini-series episode of the night. Richie finished his food, and Eddie got some for himself, downing his own meal much quicker.

Finally, as Eddie is about to nod off again, he rocks himself forward, and up onto his feet. "Night, Richie... If you need anything, call me, okay?" He thinks Richie'll be more tired. Lulled to sleep by his medication, and the fact that he's only gotten up to go back and forth to the bathroom. Eddie doesn't get a simple, sleepy response, though.

"What're you gonna do," Richie scoffs, "Sleep on the couch? Look... I know you're probably thinking you have to treat me like you're a stranger to me. But you _don't_. I'll remember soon, Eddie. I promise. And I trust you. And you're the only thing I've known since I woke up, and -" Richie sighs, crumpling in on himself. "If you don't sleep here, not only will I feel like a total dick, but I'm also gonna be lonely as fuck. _Please_?"

"Richie," Eddie says, plaintive as he takes the offer in. He has it on the tip of his tongue that he can just go sleep in his own bed. That Richie's confused, and doesn't have the only bed in the house. But he knows what Richie's saying. About being lonely. Eddie feels its weight too, and his chest hurts with the idea that Richie's scared. He doesn't know how to take that away from Richie, but if his presence lessens it even a little, how can he possibly refuse? He just feels like an idiot for making Richie beg. Should've _asked_ if he needed company in the first place. "Thanks," is what Eddie decides on, "It _is_ comfier here than on the couch."

He reasons with himself that mentioning another bed, Eddie's _own_ bed, would just make Richie feel like he pressured Eddie. Make him feel undue guilt. And settles in for a good night's sleep, next to Richie's warm body.

 

In the bare light of the morning, Eddie awakens to the sound of cartoons playing low in the background. Opens his eyes to find Richie looking at him, appreciation written on his face. Richie slides down, lowering himself to Eddie's level, and whispers a good morning. Richie's breath smells of mint, and it relaxes Eddie whose body had grown tense at the sudden closeness. "You went without me," Eddie accuses softly. He doesn't like the idea of Richie getting up, moving around, and growing dizzy. Afraid he'll fall, hurt himself even more. But clearly that didn't happen.

"Aw, sorry about that. I know, your favorite part of the day is walking me to the bathroom. Weird kink, but I'll let you get some of that later, okay?" Richie says, eyes warm as he watches what must be a dark, dark blush mottling Eddie's freckled cheeks. "Just wanted to be fresh for you. That's not a crime, is it?"

Eddie's gaze goes somewhat hazy, heart rate kicking up. 'For you.' But then a little frown forms on his lips, and he rears his head back. He mumbles, "Not fair, now I'm gonna be the gross one with the bad breath."

"Hey, you might have bad breath, but you're definitely not gross," Richie tells him softly. Then, as if to prove his point, he lifts a hand up to Eddie's neck, stroking his thumb over Eddie's pulse point, and swiftly dips in to kiss at Eddie's lips.

More than that, he starts pulling Eddie over the top of him, rolling onto his back as he worms a hand under Eddie's side, and squeezes him closer until Eddie's partially over him. All before Eddie can really get his bearings.

"Mm," Eddie intones into the kiss, eyebrows scrunched together as he gathers every ounce of strength he has to pull away from Richie's intoxicating mouth. "Wait. Richie, Richie," he breathes out, eyes still screwed shut, afraid to open them, "What are you doing?"

Richie barks out a little laugh, tinged with confusion, but mostly adoration. "What am I doing? Kissing my ex _tremely_ patient boyfriend. I thought... Not to be presumptuous, but I thought maybe you might've missed kissi-"

" _Uh_." Richie's words are slow to solidify in Eddie's mind, but once they do, he's interrupting Richie's (very accurate and still somehow wholly incorrect) train of thought. Yeah, Eddie's missed kissing Richie just about his whole life, but uh, Richie is _not_ kissing his boyfriend. And now that cold ice water has been poured over Eddie's head, chilling him down his spine, his heart is beginning to ache so _loudly_ that surely Richie must hear how wrong he is. "Richie - I. Wh -"

With large, placating hands smoothing down Eddie's face, Richie kisses his scrunched up nose, laughing. "Eddie, this isn't like in the movies... You could've _told me_ we're partners. It wouldn't have kept me from remembering. The nurse told me - when you were gone to the cafeteria. 'Your boyfriend's been so worried about you. Hasn't left your side. We're all really grateful you woke up, Mr. Tozier.' C'mon, Eddie," Richie says, wrapping Eddie up further in his arms, and pulling him close, nuzzling the side of his head, "You miss me, right? But I'm here. I promise."

What he's saying is that he's inside. The same person, just with certain things locked up inside his head. That he understands how things are when those files are unlocked, and that he's perfectly happy to accommodate Eddie until they're released.

The only problem is that Eddie just told the hospital they were partners so that he didn't have to go home at the close of visiting hours. And Richie only _thinks_ he has an understanding of the way they were before. And it _hurts_ because Eddie _wishes_ , more than anything - other than Richie never having lost his memories in the first place - that it were real.

Warm beneath him, and around him, Richie's face pressed into Eddie's hair - Eddie's chest goes so tight he momentarily considers having a heart attack. " _Rich_."

He has to stop it. Richie _will_ get his memory back, and he'll know if Eddie lies... Someday. It doesn't matter if it's awkward to tell Richie he's wrong about them. Or if he'd give almost anything to be able to indulge in this while it lasts. Let Richie be his. Just for a while.

"You say my name like that, and I - just, you don't get it, Eddie. I _feel_ that I know you. Even though nothing's really there. From the moment I woke up and saw you sleeping by me, I think I fell a little in love with you. I mean. We already are, I know but..."

"Shit," Eddie breathes, a moment of weakness letting him relax into Richie's arms, forehead falling to Richie's shoulder. "Richie, you don't understand..." It's not fair. It's so fucking unfair, that he's hearing this and it's not even real. Eddie's not just a little in love with Richie, and he didn't fall in love with him approximately two and half days ago. It's been years, and it's overwhelming.

"Oh," Richie says, going stiff where Eddie's half on top of him. "Oh... I - were we in a fight? You don't love me anymore?"

Richie thinks his amnesia is the only reason Eddie's been here for him, and that thought is so sharp and unbearable that Eddie's instantly opening his mouth to counter that claim. " _No._ No, Richie, of course I love you." Madness. Buying into the fantasy until his confession hits him and his veins go slightly cold.

It's said for him, what Eddie's next thought is, ringing through his head. "Oh. Then... You think _I_ don't love _you_?" Richie's hold on him tightens, rather than lessens as Eddie's instincts tell him it should do. Breathing isn't even an option as Richie holds him close, and quiet. Eddie's hands are braced on Richie's chest, ready to push himself up and away. And he could. Richie's so weak right now, always has been the weaker of the two. But Richie's so... nice. And warm. Feels so good. "Seriously, Eds. I mean it. I saw you and it was like, 'Holy shit...' I didn't even care what was happening, because you were there. There can't be any other explanation for that right? I must love you."

If the blood in his veins went cold before, it stops moving altogether when Eddie hears his nickname. Attached to all of _that_ , especially. He pulls back, eyes stinging more severely, now, tears in his eyes. "Eds?" he asks, in awe, mostly.

"Yeah," Richie says, smiling gently, hands moving up to cup Eddie's face. "You don't like it?"

Eddie doesn't respond with words. Just licks out at his lip and then closes his eyes and accepts that he might not be as good of a person as he liked to think he was. Then leans in to kiss Richie again, hands wrapping tighter around Richie's shoulder. Kissing him breathless until Richie's breaking apart and panting up against Eddie's mouth. "Sorry. Sorry, just my neck -"

Blinking, Eddie reels backward, scrambling up off of Richie and stammers out an apology.

"Eddie," Richie says, voice lilted and sad. It propels Eddie further away, from the bed, toward the living room. "Hey, I just - it was just my neck. No big. I wasn't -" His voice chases Eddie into the hallway a ways, and then fades out as Eddie rushes into his own room.

 

Eddie's face is still buried in his pillow when the phone in his pocket begins ringing with Richie's tone. He freezes up , but then takes a resigned breath in, and out, before answering.

"Eddie, it's been an hour... Can you please come back?"

"No," Eddie says, into his bedding, woeful.

"Please? I miss you."

His chest throbs with want, desperate to be close to Richie, too. But Richie doesn't get it. "You don't get it," he tells Richie, because that thought won't stop pounding on his head, making it hurt.

"Eds, where are you, baby? If you won't come be with me, then I'll come be with you."

 _Baby_. Richie's going to fucking kill him... Eddie screws his eyes closed tighter, and then takes the leap into the oblivion that is honesty. "I'm in my room, Richie."

He hears Richie swallow thickly on the other end. Can practically hear his mind racing to piece it together. "I'm in the guest room, then?"

"No," Eddie says, a forced lightness to his tone. It's too late; it doesn't matter. Richie's going to remember. Remember how Eddie told him he loves him, and then kissed him of his own free will, memories completely intact. "You're in _your_ room."

"Mmm." It takes Richie another few moments to suss out what he wants to say. But Eddie waits patiently. He owes Richie that. "Is. Are we taking a break or something?"

Something bitter is rising up in Eddie's throat. He wants to say something sarcastic like, 'No, baby. Afraid we're not.' But he'd really only be punching himself in the throat with that one. And making Richie feel bad when Eddie's the one - Eddie's the one who - "There's nothing to take a break from, Rich. We're just -"

"Friends." Eddie just nods into the phone. Then Richie's shakily adding, "No way that's possible. I know I don't really remember anyone, but Eddie, I can't imagine anyone existing, in the entire fucking world, who's sweeter, or more gorgeous than you. Like Jesus, Eds, do I have a diary or anything? I'll bet I can prove it to you."

Eddie says this, utterly miserable, before hanging up the phone, "Don't call me Eds, Richie. Hate it when you call me that."

 

"I don't have a diary." Richie's standing at the doorway, holding the frame. It's been twenty minutes since Eddie hung up the phone, and apparently Richie's spent those last several minutes searching his room for evidence that doesn't exist.

Richie finally found his way out of the bedroom, and discovered the rest of the house. Good for him. Eddie frowns at the downturn of Richie's face. He looks so disheartened. It makes Eddie's heart swell with appreciation and love. It's so heartbreakingly cute how much Richie wants to prove he's in love. He owes Eddie nothing, and yet... here he is. Disappointed that the him of his past didn't bother writing down any love confessions right under Eddie's little button nose.

"I know. I would've found out about it forever ago, if you did. Sorry."

Richie rests his head against the frame, and looks around the room, not really responding to what Eddie said. "So this is yours... It's different. Definitely more you." Eddie snorts because frankly, there's no way Richie knows who he is. Or what his aesthetic might be. Unless greasy, desperate, pajama boy _is_ the culmination of Eddie's defining traits and features, in which case: gross. "Can I come sit by you?"

At that, Eddie retracts into himself, lifting his knees up to his chest and very minutely shaking his head. This is so fucking embarrassing. _No_ , Richie can't come sit by him, looking at him all pitying.

"Eds," Richie sighs, rolling his head forward, "I'm telling you... I can feel it. I'm fucking in love with you and - anyways, don't you think I've been punished enough? _I miss you_. Please come back to bed. We don't have to touch, or anything. Unless. You want to." The last part of it slices through Eddie. He'd agreed up until that point. Richie deserved not to be lonely while he waited to get better. Deserved to have someone better, who wouldn't run away from their mistakes. But there was just no way of knowing if Richie was right. And he probably wasn't... Eddie even so much as thinking about kissing Richie again was taking advantage.

"We can't kiss anymore," Eddie tells him, grave, with the bags under his eyes prominent.

Richie nods, slow, and reluctant to agree. But eager enough to have Eddie back at his side, it seems, that he doesn't argue. He can't help but throw out a half-joke though. One that makes Eddie feel kinda bad because Richie'd probably feel better if he _did_ have one. "No sponge bath then, I take it?"

"I'll bring you the sponge, but that's it," Eddie tells him, with a tight smile.

With a sigh, Richie takes a step back, back toward his own room. "Right now, I just want you. Even though you don't believe me, and it's very, very rude of you."

"Richie," Eddie starts, long-suffering mixed with full-blown adoration.

 

When the specialist arrives, visiting Richie in the place he likely has the most recent memories of: his home, Richie and Eddie have mostly been quietly watching TV together. The only touches exchanged between them being as Eddie changed Richie's bandages, and if their fingers brushed while Eddie got Richie food. Or held his elbow as he walked him to the bathroom, still insistent even after Richie proved himself capable of getting there himself when he brushed his teeth that morning.

The doctor leaves looking pleased. Although Richie's memories have not yet resurfaced, he's recovering remarkably well for someone with a head injury, and has most of his faculties completely intact.

"Just keep things calm, and have the same types of conversations you normally would. With his current state, I have no doubt in my mind, he'll begin remembering things shortly. I know this is hard... But he's healing."

He tells Eddie this at the door, and Eddie is both relieved and scared by the idea of Richie returning to normal - now that everything has gotten so muddled. But mostly, he looks forward to it. Even if a heavier part of his mind is worried again, about Richie's safety once he's well enough to leave home again. It's something he's going to have to work on, and he doesn't think he can really do that until he's facing the problem head on. However, the next time Richie needs to use the restroom, Eddie lets him head out into the hallway by himself. It's a step, right?

 

Sitting on Richie's bed, Richie's dinner is pudding and bread with butter. Eddie feels awful that this is what he has to offer. More of the same. Rice, chicken noodle soup, gelatin. Some of it's not so bad, and Richie insists he'd rather eat rice for the rest of his life than get sick while his head's in a vice grip, anyway. Masterpiece theater is back on, the cartoons over for the day, sadly. But Richie takes the opportunity to try and lighten the mood some more, and Eddie, of course, is weak to it. Rolling his eyes and licking the back of his spoon with a clear smile on his face.

"Hey, bestie, I have an idea," Richie says, accent all off. An amalgamation of many. Eddie feels his stomach drop slightly, cause wow, now he's suddenly all offended that Richie's just his friend. _Dumbass_ , he thinks to himself, and keeps his eyes steady, allowing Richie to continue. The accent disappears. "Let's have a sleepover. You tell me all about your crush, and I'll giggle, and slap your knees and tell you all about how I bet he's _super_ secretly in love with you too, and wants to bone you in the locker room after football practice."

"Richie," Eddie says, low and warning.

But Richie doesn't deflate. He just ducks his head down and tries to catch Eddie's eyes. "I said I wouldn't kiss you; I didn't say I'd stop trying to get you to understand. Eddie... Even if he - _I_ didn't... I do _now_. Care about you. Can you at least give me that much credibility?"

Eddie sighs, sinking into the pillows at his back, staring at his pudding cup. "You said it yourself; I'm all you even know right now. Of course you're gonna like, think you like me."

"Not true, Eds," Richie says so sure that it makes Eddie's skin hot. "Newborn babies in pain don't just go, 'Ah, this is a great feeling!' They cry, because they don't like it. Just because you're the only person I know, doesn't mean I'd have to like you, Eds... But I do."

"Well, if that's true, then... there's no harm in waiting for you to get your memories back. Let's see how you feel then."

"No harm? You think not getting to kiss you doesn't hurt me?"

Glancing up, Eddie takes in Richie's face, then gently elbows his arm. "Shut up," he says around a dim smile. He can see it in Richie's eyes. How bright they are at the suggestion. How much he thinks he means it. But he has no idea how much it's going to kill Eddie when he gets his memories back and realizes that, not only does he not have feelings for Eddie, but that he's now going to have to pussyfoot around Eddie, who's clearly in love with _him_.

"We don't have to tell him..." Richie says, drawing a finger lightly, ticklishly up Eddie's arm, bringing up goosebumps, and a bubble of laughter within Eddie's chest.

Eddie snuffles out a short laugh, deliberately pulling his arm closer into himself, away from the tempting touch. "Doesn't work like that, idiot. _You_ don't disappear back into the recesses just because your memories come back." Lilting his head to the side a little, Eddie conspiratorially whispers, "He'll know everything we do." Big Brother's always watching-type shit.

"Well, fuck," Richie sighs out, sitting up straight again, shoulders down and dejected. "Fuck that guy. He's such a cockblock."

Shaking his head, Eddie sinks lower on the bed, stretching his toes out towards the end. "Yeah... well. You don't know 'im. He wouldn't -" In fact. Eddie's main concern, now, is that Richie will remember, and just play along anyway. Say he has feelings that he doesn't, because now he doesn't wanna hurt Eddie. "Hey," Eddie says, throat dry and scratchy now, eyes rough, too, as he blinks. He looks up into Richie's eyes, piercing him with his gaze. Nostrils flaring, he says seriously, "Promise me you won't pretend, when you come back. If you don't - like me - I mean it, Rich. You promise?"

Richie's hands twitch. Wanting to reach up and take Eddie's face in them, pull him up close so he can reassure him from a breath away. But he doesn't. "Yeah, but Eddie..."

" _Promise_." It's not a request. Eddie'd lose his fucking mind otherwise.

"I promise, Eds. No way I'd lie about something like that."

Eddie keeps their eyes trained together for a long moment after, and then finally collapses back down into the pillow, before rolling over to set his warm pudding on the night stand. "Need anything before bed?" Richie shakes his head, slowly, eyes lingering on Eddie. So he slips under the covers, this time. Allowing himself that much, and even turns on his side to face Richie for sleep. So Richie knows he's not... trying to punish him for feeling things Eddie _wants_ with his whole heart. "Richie?" he asks softly, eyes still closed, one arm over the covers. He hates that the second he thinks about actually saying what he's about to, his voice gets all choked up, eyes going a little wet.

"Yeah?" Richie asks, gentle, having now turned off his side lamp, still sitting up, because it feels better to sleep that way, right now.

"Can I - uh." Eddie clears his throat. "Can I hold your hand?"

"You can hold anything of mine, Eds," Richie tells him. And Eddie knows that it's a joke at the forefront. Innuendo meant to make Eddie's chest loosen up. But there's an overwhelming sincerity there, as well, and Eddie's sorry, but he probably reaches out and grips Richie's hand a little too tight for comfort.

 

He wasn't expecting to wake up with his hand still in Richie's. But when he comes into consciousness, not only is Richie's hand still over his palm, but their fingers are locked. It brings a sleepy smile to Eddie's face, and he flexes his hand, thumb coming around tighter over Richie's, as he stretches his shoulders up, and prudently peeks an eye open. As expected, Richie has woken before him. The only logical explanation for why their fingers are linked together.

Warmth radiates through Eddie's body knowing Richie took it upon himself to correct whatever might have changed in the night.

Richie, noticing the change of pressure, looks at Eddie, a smile already curling up his lips as he meets Eddie's cyclops-esque gaze. "You sure know how to sleep, Spaghetti man," Richie tells him with a toothy grin, running his thumb up the back of Eddie's fingers.

His jaw clenches for just a moment, curious at the nickname. But then he realizes that Richie also found 'Eds' all by himself, too, and that perhaps it's a reflex, more than anything, that he's now discovered calling Eddie 'spaghetti' again. He moves forward, balking at the accusation. Eddie's jaw drops, and he peels his other eye open as he stretches out onto his back. "You're one to talk."

"One coma and suddenly _I'm_ forever the sleepy one. Not fair. That doesn't count. You're the one who's always sleeping when I wake up."

Snorting, Eddie carefully slides himself up the bed so he can sit upright next to Richie. He knows he should let go, now. But again, he doesn't want to miss the small window he has to enjoy things like this. "You're right, you're right," Eddie concedes, body swaying forward on the idea that right here, right now? Richie wouldn't mind a good morning kiss. "It wasn't by choice, I know." Richie's eyes zero in on Eddie's mouth for a moment, and then he's smiling bright and triumphant.

"Wow, I didn't know I ordered respect for breakfast this morning. Tastes good."

"What would you _actually_ like for breakfast?" Eddie asks, tipping his foot so that it touches Richie's shin.

Quicker than Eddie'd give him credit for, Richie tosses his other leg over the top, pinning Eddie's foot to his leg, as his expression grows mischievous. "How about some cuddles?"

"Rich," Eddie sighs sweetly, chiding him as he gently wriggles his foot away and releases Richie's hand. So that he can leave the bed, rather than steep in the magnetic pull that Richie has over him. Richie's face twists, lying somewhere between disappointed and amused, when Eddie looks up at him from beneath his lashes, halfway to the door. "Why don't you try some pancakes instead?"

"With peanut butter and syrup?" Richie asks, voice gone excited and hopeful. With a wide grin, Eddie nods, going to make quick work of heating a skillet and pouring the mix.

 

"No milk, sorry... Maybe I can go to the store today," Eddie announces, carrying with him a water bottle, a glass of coke, and a steaming plate of pancakes, already dressed.

His appetite is back, Eddie's happy to see, once he's sitting down, back to the TV, facing Richie from the end of the bed, with his legs crossed as a table. Richie's already finished half his plate by the time Eddie's come back in with his own. "You're feeling better today," he says, cheerfully. Unnecessarily, perhaps, but Richie glances up at him and smirks.

"Yeah, I guess I am. But you know... As nice as those wipes the hospital gave us have been, I'm really jonesing for a bath. I don't... suppose you know anyone who'd wanna join me?" Richie quirks a single eyebrow, watching Eddie's eyes flick down, pausing over chewing the bite in his mouth. Before Eddie can object, he adds, "I know it's small. But I seem to recall a certain someone insisting we detail scrub the bathroom clean thirty times over, with twice the manpower, twice the elbow grease. And we fit then..."

Eddie's stomach has never swooped so low, so fast. Not... well. Not never. But never in _this_ way. He clenches tight at the plate in his hands, knuckles going white. Eyes edging up until he's meeting Richie's face, where he looks as though he's been frozen in time. And then watches Richie swallow, all of the sudden, a nervous sort of sound escaping his throat as Eddie finally forces the pancake down so his mouth is clear. "You -" Eddie starts, but his voice just isn't there. It comes out like sandpaper. And then he feels his eyes watering and his heart clenches as he blinks down on the tears that are forming.

"I was right, you know... I _do_ love you."

Choking back a sob, Eddie's back hunches and his hands threaten to drop the sticky plate of food directly onto the bed so that he can climb over and pull Richie into a hug. But luckily, he's too overwhelmed to even manage that, sitting still, brain processing slowly, what all Richie is saying.

"How - when?" he gets out, just as scratchy as before, bringing his bicep up to wipe at his eyes with his hoodie, face streaked red, but luckily no tears actually fallen.

"While you were asleep," Richie says, patient, but his body seems to release the idea that... well, maybe that Eddie _would_ jump into his arms. He slowly moves his plate to the night stand, straightening his glasses unnecessarily when he looks back. "Eds..." he says, expectantly.

"I don't know what to do," Eddie admits, rushed and pleading. Richie's face crumbles in a relieved laugh, and he scoots himself off the bed, and around. Eddie puts his plate down just in time to avoid _completely_ dousing Richie's shirt in syrup, as he opens his arms to receive Richie's sideways hug. His chest is swelling, heart beating fast as Richie buries the side of his face into Eddie's hair. "You called me Spaghetti," Eddie says somewhat frantic and bordering on accusatory as he holds Richie tighter to him, and listens to the beauty that is Richie chuckling into his ear.

"Yeah. I thought you'd pick up on it more..."

"I didn't know; you were holding my hand," Eddie explains, edging closer, once again, to crying.

He thinks Richie can feel the tension of it winding through him, because he pulls back and looks into Eddie's eyes, bringing his hand up to cup at Eddie's small cheek. "Hell yeah, I fucking was. Told you, Eddie. I knew I had to love you, and I - I do. You're so mean, turning down a sick man's request for cuddles...! I can't believe how stubborn you are."

A hot tear tracks down Eddie's face, as his lips purse, and then he says, shoulders tight up along his neck, "I didn't wanna take advantage of you."

"I know, Eds, I know," Richie says, smiling before he presses in close again, this time to kiss at Eddie's wet cheek. "I'm teasing, sweetheart, I know you were trying to take care of me. But now that you know -"

Eddie melts under the pet name, putting his face to Richie's neck as he answers, "Anything. Whatever you want."

Richie laughs into Eddie's hair, petting at the back of his neck as he pulls Eddie into his chest, and closer toward the edge of the bed so that he can sit, and rest his tired body again. "Want you to help me smell good again so I don't second guess myself so much when we makeout later."

"Bath, you got it," Eddie says, strained with happiness, into Richie's collar bone, plate spilled out over onto the bed between them, despite Eddie's efforts. "We're gonna have to move to my bed." Looking up with an amused, watery smile as Richie turns to look at the mess they've made.

"Whose bed, again?" he asks, cheeks going a quiet pink as he peers down into Eddie's eyes.

 _Oh,_ Eddie thinks, falling closer so that he can kiss up Richie's neck and to his sticky lips, as he answers, "Our bed. If you want."

"Well you've slept on both; which is comfier?"

"That one," Eddie answers, jerking his head in the direction of his own room. And receives a smile from Richie in doing so.

"Little rascal. You've been holding out on me."

Eddie noses at Richie, the implication of an Eskimo kiss, then presses his lips more firmly to Richie's mouth as his only response. Sighing into the kiss as it deepens.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for all the grammatical errors and typos I assume are in this. And any lack of flow. But I hope it was enjoyable to some extent! Uh my very favorite amnesia fic ever is [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/174583). Mine pales, of course. But yeah! ♥


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